A Man of His Word
by Bespectacled
Summary: Branson is hardly the type to go back on a promise; let alone when it's to her. Promises are kept, schemes are made, and truthes are revealed...


A scheming Sybil, it turned out, was a terrifying one.

"I'm not a nobleman."

"Yes, but nobody here would know that. Besides, you're an officer, on leave. That's all anyone needs to know."

Technically, she was right – he was an officer (not one on commission; he was a corporal, but Sibyl insisted that this was enough) on leave, a weekend in London. A weekend in London which coincided with the season, and as such a weekend in London when the Crawleys were in attendance.

When he had mentioned in his letter the date of his leave, asking politely whether he could possibly see her for an hour or two, he hadn't expected this.

"Besides, it's a step towards class equality, isn't it? You'll be able to witness the decadence of the aristocracy first hand."

He grinned at her. "You've been reading those books I suggested, then."

She beamed at him devilishly, a slight colour to her cheeks. "Of course I have. So you'll come, this evening?"

"Will you ever let me hear the end of it if I don't?"

She tried to feign an innocent look, but it failed to convince him. "Please, Branson – Tom. I need someone I can talk to. And a society ball is something everyone should experience at least once."

"Are you just telling me that misery loves company?"

"Misery is putting things a little strongly."

"But?"

"...but yes."

He sighed – the battle had been lost the moment he set eyes on her again. "I'll have to get myself a suit. Or a dress uniform."

She grinned, clasping his hands across the table, unable to keep the excitement from her voice. "Thank you, thank you – I promise, it'll be an experience you won't forget."

"Won't your family recognise me?"

"Not in a dress uniform, and so long as I'm talking to a handsome young officer I doubt they'll much care who it is." She stood up, barely realising what she'd said, reluctantly releasing his hands. "I've got to go – there's someone I have to see, now that you've agreed. Just give your name when you arrive, I'll sort everything out."

"Eight o'clock."

"Eight o'clock." She sighed happily, a little giddy. "I'll see you then."

He nodded, watching her leave, a spring in her step.

* * *

"What did you tell her?" Mary adjusted her necklace. "That you were running an outreach programme?"

"No, I simply suggested that we really must do all we could to help the morale of our brave boys." Sibyl smiled, dabbing perfume to her neck.

"You realise that we all know why you're doing this." Edith pointed out, trying to meet Sibyl's eyes.

"I don't know what you mean." Sibyl replied blithely, checking her reflection.

"Yes you do." Edith folded her arms. "Your attachment to him is obvious. William was back last month – "

"And I ensured that we made him feel appreciated." Sybil turned to her, a little put out to say the least.

"You ensured that he joined us for dinner, Branson gets a ball?" Mary smiled slightly. "Your feelings are obvious, Sibyl."

Sibyl looked down. "He's fighting for his country – _our_ country, he deserves an evening of luxury."

"You realise that if you just admit it, we may be inclined to help you." Mary proposed soothingly, standing close to her youngest sister, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"...well, it's possible that my motives aren't...entirely pure." Sibyl replied reluctantly.

"Entirely pure?" Edith laughed. "Your motives are far from pure. Mama and Papa couldn't possibly approve of any of this. It's obvious, the way you feel about him, it's been obvious since he first arrived."

Sibyl looked at her sister. "What do you mean?"

Edith sighed. "You presume that just because you don't talk about him with me that I won't notice."

Sibyl turned to Mary imploringly.

"It is obvious, Sibyl."

"...were you planning on telling Mama and Papa?"

Mary shook her head, glancing to Edith, who arched her eyebrows. "Oh, please, Mary, I'm not heartless. It can only be one evening, can't it? It's not like you've a future with him. You may as well enjoy it while you can."

"Yes, you really are all heart." Mary replied drily, glancing at Sibyl's face, noting the determined look in her eye. If she had her way, she definitely did have a future with him.

* * *

Corporal Tom Branson felt like a fraud in this dress uniform.

His commanding officer, luckily enough, found the entire thing hilarious, and had happily let him borrow his uniform for the evening, on the condition that Tom told him everything and nobody else heard about it.

Even with his commanding officer's blessing, it didn't feel right, and Tom had ensured he had his correct number of stripes across his arm.

He looked out across the room from his vantage point, hiding at the back until he saw Sibyl – that would be the only point at which he'd feel comfortable here. And even then, he wasn't certain...

He saw her across the room, chatting animatedly to another young lady, possibly the hostess. She hadn't noticed him yet, clearly.

She was beautiful – it wasn't as if he'd doubted it, but tonight especially she was stunning. He had presumed that affection had coloured his memory of her, that he had exaggerated her charms, but if anything he had forgotten.

He saw her glance around, and raised a hesitant hand. She beamed, making her excuses, and walked towards him as swiftly as she could get away with. Unable to stop the grin from spreading onto his own face, he walked towards her with some urgency in his step.

"You look beautiful." He said softly, honestly.

She coloured, beaming. "I wasn't certain you'd come."

"I'm a man of my word."

"You are." She sighed happily, looking out at the dancing couples. "Well, then, shall we?"

Pure terror flickered in his eyes. "I can't dance."

"You'll pick it up, you're a fast learner." She assured him, taking his hand and leading him to the edge of the floor. "Just follow what everyone else is doing – besides, it's a waltz, it's really very simple." She guided his hand to her waist, before placing her own on his shoulder. "One, two, three, that's all you need to know."

He chuckled. "I think you're overestimating my skills."

"Nonsense, your grip is good, and this position feels very natural – that's one of the most important things."

He had his own reasons for having a good grip on her, and if he was honest a closer position would have felt more natural – not that he had any intention of telling her that.

The supposedly simple dance was taking most of his concentration as she explained his steps to him, all the while apparently rather amused by the entire affair.

By the second waltz he had the hang of it, and was able to brave conversation beyond the realms of "one, two, three." He would never be a fine dancer, but at least he could hold his own.

"Excuse me – corporal." The stranger could barely keep the disgust from his voice, having clearly decided that as a corporal Tom must've been a failure. "I was wondering, Lady Sybil, if I may have this dance?"

Tom stepped away from Sibyl, removing his hand from her waist and releasing her hand – despite his inclinations otherwise, he knew his place (his _current_ place at least). That and he did not wish to call any attention to himself that evening, and if he acted on his instincts this "gentleman" would be leaving with at best a flea in his ear.

Sibyl glared. "My apologies, but my dance card is rather full this evening. Corporal Branson only has leave for so long, and I have promised to spend the evening with him." The way she said his name made it sound like he was a hero, winning the war single-handed. "I'm sure you understand – I rather think that our soldiers deserve reward for their hard work."

Tom found it rather difficult not to smirk.

The stranger looked at her, trying not to sneer. "Perhaps at your next society outing?"

"Well, perhaps. I'm certain stranger things have happened." Sybil replied mildly, turning very deliberately to give Tom her full attention. "Perhaps we could get some fresh air, it feels rather crowded in here, don't you think?"

"Certainly, m'lady." Tom replied respectfully, offering his arm to her. She gleefully took it, and the two of them walked to the garden.

"Beastly man. Mary danced with him once, apparently he was all hands." Sibyl shuddered. "Are you alright? He didn't make you uncomfortable, did he?"

"Fine, m'lady – "

"Really, Tom. Sybil." She chided him gently.

"It feels odd, to hear you calling me that."

She looked at him inquisitively.

"I got used to reading it, in your letters, but...to actually hear you say it..." He met her eyes. "It's...odd."

"Pleasantly odd?" She ventured, smiling shyly.

He nodded, leading her to a quiet corner, looking out into the garden. "I have to admit, I feel more comfortable out here than in there." He glanced towards the doors – it was colder here, although not as dark as he'd expected. "When I used to drive you to your balls, most of the time I'd end up stood outside, with the other chauffeurs, waiting for you."

She sighed. "It feels so long ago, since you were at Downton."

"I used to hate driving you to those balls." He said softly, still looking inside, not at her. "Seeing you leave, looking so beautiful, knowing that every man inside would be thinking the same thing." He hazarded a glance at her face – her expression was unreadable.

Perhaps he'd overstepped the mark.

"You know, if I'd had the choice, I would have simply sat in the car with you, or stood outside with you, or...anything with you. It would've been much more enjoyable. You're far better company than anyone else I've met at a ball. Or...or anywhere else, for that matter."

He released her arm, instead slipping it around her waist – incredibly inappropriate, but there _was_ a war on (which, if caught, would be his argument).

"Your uniform suits you, by the way." She smiled, enjoying this closeness, knowing it couldn't last long. "Very dashing."

"It's my sergeant's – it took me forever to unpick his extra stripe." He shook his head. "Something I'll have to repair when I get back."

"I'm sorry to have inconvenienced you."

He looked at her, framed by the garden, her face shining slightly in the summer evening sun. "It was worth it."

She sighed. "Do you think we could run away together?" She asked quietly, resting her head against his shoulder. "We could be happy, somewhere. You could go into politics, and I could work alongside you. A couple of children. A dog."

"More than a couple of children, we'll have a fleet. Enough to fill Downton, when we visit. Because, obviously, your father would forgive me in time. You could advise me on all of my campaigns – stand alongside me. Perhaps you should be the one becoming an MP."

"Perhaps I should." She chuckled, lifting her head to meet his eyes. "Do you – "

"Of course I love you." He said quietly, not feeling able to mince his words, not caring what society may dictate. One of the side effects of war had been facing his mortality, facing what mattered in life – thoughts of Sybil had helped him through his darkest moments. It wasn't worth being coy about the subject.

She hugged him tightly, burying her head in his shoulder, more than aware that this wasn't what she should be doing. "I love you too." She said softly as he returned her embrace.

"Sybil."

Sybil released Tom, turning to see her mother, with Edith alongside.

"Mama, I – "

"Her ladyship wasn't serious about us running away together." Tom said quickly.

Cora rubbed her eyes. "Branson, if you want a job to return to, I'd advise leaving quickly. Don't let yourself be seen by Lord Grantham."

Sybil stepped towards her mother, looking at her pleadingly. "Please, mama, Tom – Branson's leave is over tomorrow, he leaves at midday – please, let us say goodbye properly, please."

Cora sighed, turning to Edith. "Go and make sure your father is distracted. Sybil looks unwell, she should go home. I'll call ahead – Jones will be along to pick you up in due course." She gave her youngest a look.

Sibyl hugged her mother tightly, kissing her briefly on the cheek. "Thank you."

Cora met Branson's eyes. "This isn't approval. This is..." She sighed. "I'm trusting you."

He nodded. "Thank you, m'lady."

* * *

"It'll be a while until Jones gets here – he drives so slowly...not a patch on you. We borrowed Aunt Rosamond's driver to take us here this evening..." Sibyl held Tom's hand in hers as the two of them walked to a quiet corner, near enough to the house to see the car when it arrived. "We have...some time."

"It isn't fair for me to ask you to wait for me." He said, everything coming out in a rush, all at once. "I can't ask you that. But – "

They stood together in the halflight, in the shadow of a hedge. Sibyl took both of his hands in hers, squeezing them tenderly.

"It's what I've been doing." She said softly, before smiling shyly, stepping forward. "You're the only man I want to marry, Tom."

"If only I knew where we could find a priest." He grinned at her, removing one hand from hers and pressing it gently against her cheek. "You were right. I won't forget this evening."

She looked up at him, suddenly nervous, uncertain. He smiled reassuringly, running his thumb across her cheek and gently tipping her chin up, acting very slowly, giving her the chance to turn away, praying that she wouldn't – he needed this, he needed this moment.

She didn't – he gently pressed his lips against hers, one hand going to her waist, felt her hands cling to his shoulders.

She leaned her forehead against his chest. "Are you sure we can't run away together?"

"One day." He chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

She looked up at him, tiny tears twinkling in the corners of her eyes. "This is going to make me miss you more, isn't it? I didn't think that was possible. I'm going to know what I'm missing now."

"I think of you. All the time." He said softly. "You – you're what keeps me going." He tightened his grip on her. "Knowing that I was going to see you today..."

She breathed deeply, feeling the tears falling. "It isn't fair. It simply isn't fair. I love you, I want...I want to spend my life with you."

He lifted her chin again, kissing her slowly, his hand resting in the small of her back.

"Lady Sybil?"

"No – no, please, not yet." Sybil tried to bury her head in Tom's shoulder, but they both knew that the moment was over. Real life had rudely interrupted. "Jones, please, could you – "

Jones looked at her stoically. "M'lady, I've taken enough of a risk coming to find you. I didn't wish to call attention to you..."

"Sullying your reputation with a serviceman." Tom said softly, releasing her.

"I don't give two jots for my reputation – perhaps if I sully it enough then no man will have me and I can't be married off." She snapped.

Tom shook his head vehemently. "I won't have that, not because of me."

"It may be the only way my father will let you marry me." She muttered sulkily, before meeting his eyes. She sighed, hugging herself, not wanting his last image of her to be like this, angry and bitter. She glanced at Jones, who dutifully turned away.

She took Tom's hands in hers, tenderly kissing his cheek. "I love you." She whispered. "Don't forget that."

"I won't." He replied softly, squeezing her hands and watching her leave, meekly following Jones to the car.

* * *

_So! Hopefully this is part one; it may be that the continuation of this fic continues to elude me (or rather, a satisfactory continuation continues to elude me...believe me, I've got pages and pages following this, but I've no idea where I'm going and may be best off quitting whilst I'm ahead!) This started off as an attempt to write fluff about these two. Hah! Apparently I'm incapable of it. Deeply troubling._

_I hasten to add that my military history is pretty awful, but seeing as corporal is a non-comissioned rank I imagine it's possible...?_

_Edited to change Lady Crawley to Lady Sybil as the lovely Silvestria pointed out (and to add a missing word, oh self). That and to warn you this is still very much... not quite on hiatus, but in a questionable position.  
_


End file.
